How to Ruin Series Part 174

Taking a deep breath, I grab my PJs and head for the one bathroom. There's still an open keyhole/peephole in the door for anyone inclined to look at someone peeing or taking a dump. I undress quickly, unwrap the gauze from my arms, and turn the water on, hoping none of my Israeli family members open the door without knocking.

When the water turns hot, it's like the Almighty Lord has sent a miracle down to earth just for me. Being super gentle while soaping the still-raw cuts on my arms, I lather up, scrub, rinse, and repeat a few times before letting the water just run down my body. Ahh, this feels great.

I hear the door open.

"h.e.l.loooo, I'm in here," I say loudly, then stick my head out of the curtain to see who's barged in on me.

It's little Matan, with his corkscrew hair and Power Ranger pajamas on. "Shalom, Ami," he says, smiling wide. He says my name Ah-mee instead of Amy.

"Shalom. Do you mind? I'm in the shower here." I know the kid doesn't understand English, but you'd think he'd get the hint. No such luck.

My little toddler cousin pulls down his pants and starts peeing in the toilet next to the shower. Does he not care that I'm in here, totally naked behind the curtain? To top it off, he starts scratching his b.u.t.t while he's peeing. Eww. Please don't tell me every guy does this.

When he's done, he gives his thingie a little shake, pulls up his pants, and waves to me with a big happy-go-lucky smile on his face. I'll never get over the fact that guys don't wipe their wee-wees after they pee. It just seems so unsanitary. It also seems unsanitary that Matan is going out of the bathroom without washing his hands.

Totally not acceptable.

"Yo, Matan!" I call after him.

"Ken?" Yes?

I'm still naked, in the shower with shampoo in my hair and soap running down my body, with my head the only thing peeking out from the curtain. "Wash your hands, little buddy."

"Lo meda'bear Angleet, Ami." He doesn't understand English, and he's waiting for me to translate what I just said.

How the h.e.l.l am I supposed to know what wash your germy hands is in Hebrew? I let go of the curtain and rub my hands together using the universal hand- washing motion, then point to the sink.

"Wash your hands," I tell him again, hoping he understands this time.

Matan points to my now exposed b.o.o.bs and says, "Tzee-tzeem g'doleem!"

I know that gadol means "big," and I can just imagine that tzee-tzeem means "b.o.o.bs" by the direction of his pointing finger. Would he think it polite of me to point to his wee-wee and announce "Pee- pee katan! "-Hebrew for his ding-a-ling is tiny?

I quickly pull the shower curtain back over my body. Keeping one hand on the curtain, I point to the sink again. "Wash, Matan, or I swear I'm telling your mom you don't clean your hands after peeing."

Yes, I'm aware he doesn't know what my threat means, but it makes me feel better saying it.

Doda Yucky knocks on the door. "Amy, is Matan in there?"

"Yep. He sure is."

She opens the door, apologizes, and helps him quickly wash his hands before shooing him out. "I'm so sorry. I'll make sure he doesn't do that again."

Matan points in the general direction of my b.o.o.b area hiding behind the curtain and says to his mother, "L'Amy yesh tzee- tzeem g'doleem!"

Doda Yucky looks embarra.s.sed as she says, "He doesn't mean anything by that."

"Uh huh." I'll just file that into the folder of embarra.s.sing/humiliating moments in my life.

After my shower, I change into PJs and feel like a new person. At least a new person with scratched-up arms and a chin with racer marks on it.

"Is Avi back yet?" I ask Osnat. She's sitting on our safta's bed, looking at a photo alb.u.m.

"No." Osnat, who's my age and will be in the Israeli army in a year, looks vulnerable and lost. "Safta always looked forward to your Sat.u.r.day calls, you know."

"She never seemed tired of hearing about what was going on in my life." There aren't many people who like to hear the sound of your voice and are happy to listen to you, no matter what you're saying. Safta is one of those people. Some kids hate talking to their elderly grandparents on the phone, but I can't wait until I wake up Sat.u.r.day morning and can call my family in Israel.

"Here's a picture of us when we went to the Kotel, the Western Wall," she tells me.

I move closer and look at the picture. It shows my aunt, my uncle, Safta, and my two cousins pushing tiny pieces of paper into the cracks in the Wall.

I've read about the Wall, the only standing structure from the ancient Jewish Temple. It's also called the Wailing Wall because Jews mourn the destruction of the Temple and grieve while praying there.

"What are you doing in this picture?" I ask her.

"Putting prayers into the cracks. It's customary to do that. People think G.o.d is closer there than other places, and will answer your prayers."

Oh, great. Why hadn't I known this sooner? I definitely think a trip to the Western Wall is in order. The only problem is that it's in Jerusalem, a few hours from the moshav. In another picture, Matan is kissing the Wall while standing next to Safta.

I sit on the edge of Safta's bed, thinking how lucky Osnat is. Our grandma has lived with her since she was born. I know some teens would hate sharing their home with their grandparent, but I would have loved it. Especially my grandma, because she's sweet and kind and has definitely given me good advice when I asked for it (unlike my mother, who's a master at giving me unsolicited opinions, suggestions, and critiques).

"What is Safta really like?"

Osnat looks up and smiles. "Seriously, with Safta what you see is it. When I was younger we used to go out in the middle of the night when we both couldn't sleep and we'd sit on the edge of the mountain and talk ... about nothing and everything."

"That's so cool."

"It was. And there's this area about a mile away where eagles fly over a ravine.

We'd sit there for hours, talking about Israel and freedom and history." She wipes tears away. "I guess you kinda missed out by living in America. I always think you have it so easy, and I guess I get jealous of your material stuff." Osnat closes the alb.u.m and sits up. "What's with you and Avi?"

"What's with you and O'dead?" I ask her, quickly changing the subject to her boyfriend. Israelis are not overly gushy or lovey-dovey types, and I'm afraid she'll make fun of me if I open up and really tell her how I feel about Avi. "Are you guys still dating?"

"O'dead and I broke up. He's dating Ofra."

"Wait. Isn't Ofra dating Doo-Doo?"

"She dumped him."

Wait a minute. "Your best friend stole your boyfriend?"

"Kind of. But I'm over it."

I guess when Jessica started dating Mitch, Mitch and I were still technically a couple even though I'd already met Avi.

Teenage dating is definitely complicated. Before Avi and I met, my friends and I used to joke that marrying your high school sweetheart was an urban myth. No teen relationships I know of have lasted.

"You never answered about you and Avi."

"We had some issues. But everything's great now."

"Really?"

I think about Avi, and how I can't imagine him out of my life. I'm glad I decided to give us another chance, because I don't want to be an urban myth. I want us to be real. And being real means dealing with real issues (and drama, because my name is Amy Nelson-Barak and I can't avoid it).

I stand by the doorway to see if Avi is in the hallway. n.o.body on the moshav locks their doors. Everyone is like family, so they just walk into each other's houses as if they live there. I can't imagine me just prancing into Mr. Obermeyer's condo in our building without knocking. If he owned a gun, he'd shoot first and ask questions later.

"Shalom! Earth to Amy." I look over at my cousin, who's waving her hand at me.

"Are you daydreaming about Avi again?

Listen, since I'm not dating anyone, maybe next summer before my military service I'll come visit you in America to meet American boys. I'm sick of Israeli guys."

I hear the front door open and my heart leaps when I see Avi. He's wearing black sweats and a T-shirt. When he smiles at me, a warm calmness spreads over my body. I think G.o.d definitely had something to do with bringing us together. Life is too short not to be with the person you love the most, even if you have to work through both of your emotional baggage while you're together. Who better to deal with your issues than a person who loves you?

"Hey," he says. "You okay?"

"I am now that you're here," I answer back as I hug his waist and bury my head into his chest.

Osnat pretends to gag. "Ugh, please get out of here before I catch whatever love disease you have."

"Come on," I say, leading Avi to Osnat's room.

He watches from the guest bed while I blow-dry my hair. Afterward, I sit next to him while he takes the extra gauze the nurse on the base gave me and carefully rewraps my forearms.

"I hope one day I can take care of you,"

I tell him.

"You already do. You're a constant reminder that life is not one-dimensional. I forget that sometimes."

I lean my back against his chest and hold his arms around me. I feel so safe and protected wrapped in his arms.

"I've got to report back to the base in two days," he says quietly. "We might not get to see each other after that. I a.s.sume you're not going back to the base."

There's so much I want to tell him right here, right now. I turn around and sit on my knees, facing him. "I need to say some stuff, Avi. And I need to say it before I lose my nerve, so don't interrupt me." I take a deep breath, hold his hands in mine, and look into the depths of his eyes. I can get lost in those chocolate depths so easily.

"I admire you so much ... the way you lead by example ... the incredible drive you have to succeed at whatever you're doing ... the way you know how to lead our group with authority, but you can also follow directions like you do with Sergeant Ben-Shimon ... I admire the skills you possess in so many different areas ... I love the way you protect the ones you love ... I love the pa.s.sion you have for your country and your willingness and dedication to protect it at all costs ... "

I cup Avi's cheek in my hand. "I think G.o.d had something to do with us getting together, because we're so different. But I seriously think we were meant to be together."

He swipes away tears falling down my cheeks. "G.o.d definitely had something to do with it. Amy?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we can do it. You know, just date each other. n.o.body else."

"You do?"

He nods.

"Me, too." One by one, my worries and fears and insecurities start melting away.

I lay my head in Avi's lap and he runs his fingers through my hair.

"I should leave," he says after a while.

I wrap my arms around him, holding tight. I know that if he leaves I'll be more of a mess than I already am. Avi makes me stronger. "No. Please don't go. Not yet." I look up at him, this boy/man who challenges me to be a better, stronger person. According to Liron's a.s.sessment, I've ruined his Israeli warrior reputation and he's still unconditionally by my side. I don't know if anyone else in this universe could handle me except a guy like Avi.

I hear the front door open. I'm too weak to sit up. My dad cracks the door to my room a minute later. "Amy, you up?"

"Yeah. Just so you know, Avi's with me."

"Oh." If it was any other time, my dad would order Avi out. And maybe even threaten his life. But he sees Avi comforting me and his face softens. "Just ... keep the door open. Okay? And no touching ... things ... things, um, things you're not supposed to be touching."

Yeah, that's how comfortable my dad is talking about s.e.x. He stutters and hesitates and then asks me to talk to my mom.

Unfortunately for him, my mom is back in the United States.

My dad is about to give us privacy when Avi calls out, "Ron?"

My dad stops and asks, "Mah?" which means "what" in Hebrew.

"Todah rabah. " Thank you very much.

My dad's response is a nod.

Avi slides his body behind me on the bed and holds me tight the entire night. I think he stayed up all night. When I woke up and cried against his chest, he caressed my hair and wiped the tears from my face.

When I whispered my fears about Safta dying an hour later, he listened, gave support, and rubbed my back until I fell back asleep. And when I open my eyes in the morning, he's watching me sleep.

"You must be exhausted," I say, my body curling into the warmth of his body heat. It feels so good in his arms, it almost lulls me back to sleep. But thoughts of Safta bring me back to reality.

After a quick breakfast, Avi drives me and my dad to the hospital a half hour away. My uncle and Osnat follow in their car. While my dad and Uncle Chime talk to the doctors and nurses about the next test to determine what's wrong with Safta, and Osnat goes to the cafeteria to get coffee, I sit next to Safta's bed. Avi leans against the window sill off to the side, giving me privacy.

My grandmother slowly opens her eyes.

It takes her a minute to adjust to her surroundings, but when her eyes focus on me she has an apologetic look on her face.

She pulls off the oxygen mask. "Amy, motek, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be at boot camp."

"I came to make sure you're okay. And to be with you."

"I don't want ... you to see me like this.

It's no fun in a hospital watching some tired old lady sleep."

"You're not just some old lady," I tell her while I give her a gentle hug. "You're my safta. How are you feeling?"